I stared down the bed, looking at my feet where they had slipped out of the rucked-up quilt I’d disturbed in my feverish sleep.
‘Actually, Adam,’ I said tentatively, ‘I’m not going. I changed my mind.’
He looked confused and worried. ‘But I thought it was all settled. You’ve been in a terrible state. Are you sure you’re not still ill?’
‘No, Adam. I’m sorry to be so inconsistent, and cause you all such worry. But I’m definitely not going back to Manchester. Not yet.’
Adam whistled softly. He sucked in his breath, and gave a weak smile. ‘OK then, that’s great. That’s marvellous. We’ll all stay here and have a good, sunny holiday. Danny will be so happy.’
Now it was my turn to take a deep breath. ‘The thing is, I’m not staying here.’
Adam looked confused. ‘You mean you want us to move somewhere else? Why? It’s perfect here. I thought you loved it.’
‘I do. But I want to rent a place in Polperro.’
He looked thunderstruck. ‘Polperro? For God’s sake, Molly, that’s where—’
I raised my voice. ‘Do you think I don’t know that? That’s why I need to be there. I need to reach him. That’s where he’ll be.’
He was quiet for a moment. ‘But, if you’ve been so unhappy here, away from the sea, how on earth will you feel in Polperro? Every time you look out the window you’ll see the harbour, the place where Joey took his last breaths.’
I tried hard to sound calm, but it was difficult. ‘I KNOW that. That’s the whole POINT.’
There was a long silence. I lifted my head and tried to see Adam’s face. Then I saw comprehension dawn. I watched his expression change, and a small smile creep across his poor, puzzled features.
‘I see. I see, Molly. You want, finally, to come to terms with what’s happened. You feel strong enough to face up to Joey’s death. You’ve realised, at last, that to do that you have to be brave, to confront it. That’s fantastic, love. I’ve been praying for this. We’ll go down to Polperro this morning and find a cottage that’s big enough for all of us. Actually, I walked down to the village the other day and there are still quite a few empty holiday lets. One of them is really pretty, slightly up on the cliff, directly overlooking the harbour. It’s big, too. I’ll call the letting agent right away and ask him—’
I could bear it no longer. ‘No,’ I said, trying to keep my voice firm but reasonable. ‘No, no, no. You don’t understand. I don’t want somewhere that’s big enough for all of us. I need to be on my own. Look, Adam, I can’t do this any more, playing happy families, little games on the beach with Edie, buying ice creams and pizzas, pretending everything’s all right. This is not a holiday, Adam. For me it’s purgatory. It’s best if I stay in Polperro, concentrate on finding out what happened to Joey without any distractions, without feeling I’ve got to be a perfect wife, a perfect mother, a perfect grandmother. Because I’m not, Adam. I’m a wreck. I’m bleeding, I’m torn to shreds; sometimes I feel I’m dying with grief.’ I paused, my throat aching. ‘I should never have come here, Adam. You made me feel I had to do it, for Danny. But I can’t cope with all the memories. My only hope is that I can find out where he is. Please understand. I need to be alone with Joey.’
I was sobbing by now. Andy looked hurt, upset. ‘Molly–I think you’re wrong. I think what you want to do, going off on your own, leaving us all behind, will hurt Danny very much. It’s selfish of you.’ He paused. ‘You’re not the only one who’s lost a son. And your other son has lost his only brother. I can only think you’re having some kind of breakdown. This is all just nonsense.’
He left the room, closing the door firmly behind him. I thought he was right. I was having some kind of breakdown. It had been a long time coming. I had tried so hard not to collapse after Joey’s accident. Five years of half-living. Five years of pretending I could cope, carry on. What was that old wartime adage? Keep calm and carry on? And that is what I’d done. I’d gone back to work the following Autumn term, presenting a tranquil face to the world. I had prepared my girls for A-level, achieving the usual excellent results and a record number of places at Oxbridge. There was praise from Ofsted for the sixth form’s achievements, flattering articles in the more serious newspapers.
To my colleagues I appeared stable and steady. In fact it was surprising how few people remembered what had happened at all. It quickly faded from the minds of even my fellow-teachers, no doubt partly because I never alluded to it myself. I kept myself apart, and I acted a part; that of the noble professional who would not allow her most private emotions to intrude upon her work.
And all the time I acted as if I were a whole, unwounded woman, I was crying inside. The magnitude of Joey’s loss was insufferable to me. One day, I half knew, it would tear me inside out. And here in Cornwall, that day had come.
Chapter Twenty
I stayed in my bed at Coombe, allowing myself to cry properly now Adam had gone. Was I mad? Had my sanity, stretched to breaking point, finally snapped? Was that why I had ‘heard’ my missing son call out to me in a moonlit Cornish garden; why I had thought I would find him at Jamaica Inn, and instead found a bewitched malevolent scarecrow crouched against a broken old fence, which stared at me with evil glittering eyes and began to move. Madness seemed the only logical explanation.
And yes, I found myself blaming Adam and Danny for bringing me back to a place where no woman who had been through what I had should ever have returned. Asking me to come here, selfishly, so they could have a seaside holiday, ‘just like it used to be.’ And blackmailing me emotionally, making me feel I would hurt Danny and Edie if I refused to come.
And look where it had got them. Look what they had to deal with now. A broken wife and mother, a woman driven half out of her mind because of their unforgiveable lack of sensitivity.
My sobs were interrupted by a rap on the bedroom door. It opened slightly and through the crack came a cultured, confident voice. ‘Are you decent, Molly?’
I recognised that assured tone immediately. Dr Torrance, the local GP who had treated me in Polperro five years ago. Despite the horror I associated with that time, Jamie Torrance stirred a small patch of warmth in my wasted heart. He’d been marvellous. An oasis of comfort in a desert of grief, talking to him made me feel a bit better, the only person who could, back then.
I scrubbed my eyes dry with the edge of the sheet. A hopeless task. I knew I looked pathetic, my face blotched and swollen with tears.
‘Yes, I’m decent,’ I croaked. ‘Come in, Jamie.’
And in he walked, tall, broad, and handsome as ever. Even in my vulnerable state, I felt embarrassed by the way I knew I must look. Jamie Torrance was a ridiculously good-looking man, possibly the best-looking doctor in Cornwall. His dirty-blond hair, bleached into streaks of dark gold by the Cornish sun, his eyes as bright and blue as the sea in which he spent all his spare time, and the mahogany tan acquired during the endless hours he spent surfing on his days off, all enveloped him in a kind of shimmering glamour. His surgery was in Looe, and rumour had it that there was always a long queue of eager ladies in his waiting room, excitedly anticipating the ways in which he would make them feel better, although those fantasies, no doubt to their disappointment, remained only in their heads. I bet he was aware of them, though. Back in the days when Adam would stand on the harbour wall skimming stones with Joey and Danny, Queenie and I would watch them from the Blue Peter, giggling about all the women who had a crush on him.
Jamie sat on my bed, and reached for my hand.
‘Hello, Molly. Adam says you’re in a bad way. He called me. I hope you don’t mind.’
Oddly, I didn’t. I’d been cross when Queenie poked her nose around my door, but Jamie was different. I had spent hours with him years ago, talking and crying. He was a good listener, not like most GPs who wanted to fob me off with Valium and Temazepam. He did give me sleeping pills, but he was there for me whenever I needed him. He visited me every day, listened and comf
orted when my grief was at its most raw, when I talked to him about suicide. It can’t have been easy, comforting an irrational woman sucked into a vortex of shock and horror, but somehow he did it. When he left me every day, I always felt a little calmer; I felt more practical, more able to discuss the necessary next step with Adam. Adam was convinced Joey had drowned, even then. His certainty made me angry. We had to look for him, I told him.
‘Where, for God’s sake?’ he’d say in despair. ‘At the bottom of the ocean? They’ve had professional divers down there for days. They haven’t found a thing.’
But by looking for Joey I didn’t mean searching the seabed. He wasn’t there, I knew it. He was somewhere else. I was certain of it. And I knew where, I did; it’s just that I couldn’t remember.
Jamie Torrance had witnessed all this back then. His patience was inexhaustible; his gentle warmth soothed us both. So now, in my bedroom at Coombe, my poor tortured brain relaxed a little, reflexively reacting to his presence with memories of the comfort he had brought me when I was most in need.
I poured out my heart. I told him how coming back to Cornwall had precipitated a spiral of hysteria that I couldn’t control. I told him about hearing Joey’s voice begging me to find him, about my visit to Jamaica Inn and the evil vision that had sprung upon me in the neglected little field.
‘Adam says he wanted to take you home to Manchester because he could see how upset being here was making you. But he told me you don’t want to go. You want to rent a holiday let in Polperro by yourself?’ Jamie’s voice was gentle, but questioning. ‘Why, Molly?’
‘I just need to. I don’t know why, but something is telling me to do that. Or someone. I think it’s Joey.’ I looked at him desperately, aware how loopy I must sound.
‘And what if you do stay all on your own in the place where such a terrible thing happened to your family?’ he asked gently. ‘Don’t you think that being alone with your thoughts and sadness, without the others to talk to about ordinary things, and without that gorgeous baby to cuddle, you will feel pretty bleak? I think I know you enough to feel you need at least some warmth and normality in your life.’
Like a red rag to a bull, I thought. All my warm feelings towards him disappeared in an instant.
‘You don’t know me at all, Jamie. You treated me briefly for–what? A few weeks until the inquest was over? Weeks when I was going through the worst time of my life? You only ever saw me as a bereaved mother, and that’s how you see me to this day. You don’t know the real me at all; you only see the broken husk that Joey left behind. I’ve coped for five years, you know. I will certainly cope in Polperro. It’s what I want.’
Jamie looked unconvinced. ‘Molly, I know I’ve asked you this before, and I well remember what you said, but I really do think you need to see someone—’
I interrupted rudely. ‘A psychiatrist, you mean? No, actually, I suppose you’re thinking of a “counsellor”or a “grief therapist” who’s probably twenty years younger than me and doesn’t know his arse from his elbow. I told you then and I’m telling you now, I don’t need that kind of help. I don’t need anything except to find Joey.’
I stopped for a moment, desperate to straighten my head, to try to tell Jamie about the deep conviction I felt about Polperro. I had to unlock some secrets there–I didn’t know what. But they were there, and those secrets were hiding Joey, shrouding him, keeping him away from me. Ben could help, I knew, but it would be hard to get him to talk to me. In Polperro, on the spot, living so close to him, I had a greater chance to wear him down.
Secrets, conspiracies even. They were teeming in that magical little village, clustering invisibly around the self-consciously come-hither shops selling twee little good-luck charms. Plots and sinister plans, breathing thick as cigarette smoke from the wonky old walls of local alehouses: boiling, as busy as the teeming narrow rivers rushing beneath ancient pubs perched picturesquely on stilts, their wooden doors adorned with fantastical pictures of pirates and wizards. Secrets swirling round the chocolate-box white cottages, eddying in a vortex above Merlin’s Land of Legend, and clinging like golden dust to the children who swarmed the summer lanes, heading down to the rocky harbour beach, uplifted by the enchantment which held its guests in thrall each year; thrilled by romantic stories of bloodthirsty pirates and desperate smugglers, their lanterns highlighting ashen faces, men who daily risked their lives for lucre.
Children, I thought. Yes, there is something about children connected to Joey. All this I knew absolutely, and with a shiver I locked it tight inside my heart. There was no point in trying to explain to Jamie. This was a vision for me alone; a vision not for sharing, lest it evaporate on the sea breeze.
I looked up and shook myself, aware that I’d been in a daze. Jamie was staring at me speculatively.
‘Molly,’ he said briskly, ‘I’m sorry, but you do need help. The therapist I had in mind is actually a very nice woman, a little older than you, professionally trained of course but with a lot of life experience. As a matter of fact she lost a child herself, to illness. That’s why she took up counselling. I think you’d like her a lot.’ He smiled and looked at me encouragingly.
I shook my head. ‘No, Jamie. I know what I need to do.’ I hesitated; then, trying to placate him, said, ‘Listen. I’m sorry I was so rude about shrinks. I promise that if I do strike a blank in Polperro I’ll see your lady. Just give me some time first.’
But I won’t strike a blank, I thought, hugging my secrets to my chest. I was suddenly excited. I had a plan.
‘How long?’ Jamie asked.
‘How long what?’ I asked, knowing perfectly well what he meant.
‘How much time do you want before you’ll see Thelma?’
‘I have no idea. A couple of weeks, maybe. That’s how long I’ll rent the cottage for.’
He sighed. ‘OK. Well, at least that’s something. Do you mind if I tell Adam?’
‘No, that’s fine.’ In fact, it’s perfect, I thought. Thinking Jamie has persuaded me to see a therapist would be music to Adam’s ears. It should get him off my back.
‘All right, Molly. I’ll go now. Will you let me know when you’ve found a holiday let? I’d like to come and visit you, if I may?’
‘For professional reasons, or just to be sociable?’ I asked, almost flirtatiously, so light was my heart now after my sudden Polperro epiphany.
He laughed. ‘A bit of both, I hope,’ he said. ‘I do need to keep an eye on you though,’ he added, more seriously. ‘Give me a call when you know your new address.’ He smiled, and left the room.
I could hear low voices as he talked to Adam downstairs. I felt relieved and glad Jamie had come. He would convince Adam that my plan to move to Polperro would work out OK, that he would visit and watch out for me. I’d stopped crying now. I felt fired with excitement and enthusiasm. I was on my way to find my son.
Chapter Twenty-One
I slept like the dead for twelve hours, then rang the local letting agent first thing and told him what I wanted; he said he had a couple of places he thought might suit, and I agreed to meet him outside the Crumplehorn Inn.
Adam had told Danny and Lola about my plan. It was clear that Adam was deeply hurt, and Danny was upset and confused. Nevertheless my son announced he would drive me to the Crumplehorn to meet the letting agent. I was at once glad and dismayed. Of course I wouldn’t have a car in Polperro, not that I expected I’d need one. The village is tiny, and I didn’t have any intention of leaving it. I had been going to ask Adam if I could take the Volvo to meet the agent, but he, distant but courteous, had said at breakfast that he was going to play golf with one of the men he used to hang out with here when the children were small, one of the holiday friends we met up with every year. He and his wife had lived in Hertfordshire, but now, retired, they’d moved down to Cornwall permanently, living in a beautiful house in Fowey. Perhaps, I thought, if the boat had never been wrecked, Adam and I might have one day retired to Fowey. Danny and Jo
ey would visit us, and hordes of grandchildren would romp through our sunny garden every summer, running down the steep lanes to paddle on Readymoney Beach.
With an effort, I shifted my attention to Danny. It was nice of him to give me a lift, but I knew there was an ulterior motive. He wanted to talk to me. Although he knew I was looking for a place in Polperro, I hadn’t told him why I needed to be alone, and when Lola declined to come with us, saying she and Edie would stay behind at Coombe to watch CBeebies, with the feeble excuse that Edie was tired, even though she was currently rampaging round the house in her usual Formula One crawl, it was obvious Danny’s gesture was an ambush, although with the kindest and gentlest of motives. I can’t say I looked forward to it, but I owed him this conversation, and was at least grateful I didn’t have to have it in Adam’s presence.
We got into the car, Danny driving. Edie’s car seat looked oddly forlorn in the back seat. We turned out of the pretty little courtyard and headed towards the coast. The May bluebells and cow parsley were long gone, along with the cool colours of spring. Wisteria, lilac and pale clematis had given way to the vivid blooms of summer. Red-hot pokers soared like flaming torches in the hedgerows, purple foxgloves and hollyhocks nodded knowingly in the breeze, and luscious fairy bells of fuchsia, pink, red and deep mauve glowed like tiny gems beside our path. They were beautiful, these cultivated plants, which had somehow escaped their orderly well-tended gardens, flown over the hedges and come to rest magically beside us like gifts to brighten our journey. I sighed with pleasure, handing my brittle sadness briefly over to some other universe, overwhelmed with the sheer glory all around me, unable to fight a delighted response to nature’s gorgeous flowering. I let the beauty enter me. Fragrant tendrils delicately massaged my neck. All the aromas of this small piece of paradise filled me, and brought me peace.
I Do Not Sleep Page 7
